


pray you don't hear the refrain (give your soul to me)

by americangothic



Series: Oh Worm? [19]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, she just fuckin massacred everyone bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12773214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangothic/pseuds/americangothic
Summary: She strides through the wreckage, her dress horribly torn and mangled. The bones in her neck crack as she rolls them, falling back into place as quickly as leaving it.





	pray you don't hear the refrain (give your soul to me)

She strides through the wreckage, wings fanning out behind her. The dress is horribly mangled, hanging at her feet in shreds. The white fabric is stained, different colors of blood mixing. She rolls her neck, cracking the bones in it. They bend before snapping back into place.

A small flame is inching its way up her dress. Slowly, it reaches her waist. Then her shoulder. Then her hair catches on fire. And on, on, until it reaches her wings.

Each feather lights, the fire enveloping her wings. The process continues until all eight of them are flaming. Her face is expressionless.

Her dress finally burns away. A black dress, ruffling down in layers, replaces it. It covers her body perfectly, like you would expect. There are not slits in the back, as so often, but instead the neckline stretches across her back, and a hole exposes the pale skin.

The wings spread, each reaching their full span. She reaches up and unclips a necklace from around her neck, and delicately lays it on the ground. Arranges it. Makes sure each bone is perfect.

Her wings flutter, wind blowing around her. Finally, a smirk appears on her face. She stares at the small bones arranged on the dirt. The wind is getting stronger, and begins to extinguish her wings. She raises her hand, and the wind stops completely. The only sound is the crackling of flames. She shudders, her hearts speeding up. Her head raises, until she is staring at the sky. The smoke-covered moon stares back, unforgiving. Blood is running through the dirt, covering the bones and rushing over her feet. This blood is only red, not like the blue and purple hues that covered her dress. She raises her hand again, and the flames on her wings slide off, dripping onto the stream of blood. The red liquid lights, and a circle of flames surround her. She whispers, the bones shivering.

A young boy has been watching her from outside the circle, hiding behind a building. She looks at him, taking in his tear-stained face. Ragged clothes. Messy hair. She looks back at the bones, then up at the boy. Her long tongue slithers out of her mouth, running around her blood-stained lips. She snaps her fingers, and the boy is next to her. He stares at her, shaking.

The bones rise, and wrap around his neck. He screams, struggling for breath. She twists her hand, snapping his spine. Another scream. This time, even louder. She resumes her whispering, which slowly escalates to chanting. Then, finally, she stops.

The boy screams, a final time, as he dies. She kneels, her wings scraping the ground. The blood slowly pools into a glittering dark red mirror. She watches herself for a moment. Finally, she gathers her dress. After kicking the boy’s body aside, she delicately steps into the pool, her foot sinking below the surface. She descends, her head sinking beneath the surface. The tips of her wings dip below the surface, then disappear completely. The flames surrounding the pool flicker and disappear, leaving the massacre behind.


End file.
